


Soft Serve

by thirty2flavors



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13008084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirty2flavors/pseuds/thirty2flavors
Summary: Things go horrifically awry when Rhys attempts to spice things up with Sasha.Or: Sasha kinkshames Rhys.





	Soft Serve

**Author's Note:**

> 100% of the credit for this scenario/premise goes to [@lucyrne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/pseuds/lucyrne), who came up with it months ago for a meme and graciously allowed me to post this after I stole it as an exercise to work around writer's block. It left quite an impression on me, because it's hilarious and she's a genius, and now here we are. 
> 
> Please go enjoy [her original post](http://lucyrne.tumblr.com/post/164860514022/rhyssasha-sfw-3-8-10-nsfw-6-8), complete with helpful visual aid courtesy of American Horror Story. Check out her fics too, because she's the best and they're great.

“I can’t believe I finally have the opportunity to learn what kind of weird, freaky shit Hyperions are into, and it’s tainted by the involvement of my baby sister,” Fiona had whined some months ago when Rhys and Sasha’s relationship had become impossible to ignore any longer. “That’s a tragedy, that is. Truly.”

So it would have disappointed Fiona to learn that actually Rhys’ tastes were… surprisingly tame, at least in comparison with Sasha’s own, which was itself a detail Fiona _definitely_ didn’t need to know. (What exactly that said about him, her, Pandora, or Hyperion, Sasha had decided it was best not to psychoanalyze.) 

Still, lack of salacious gossip aside, the important thing was that they were compatible. Eager to please and even more eager to impress, Rhys had so far been willing to try just about anything. It was a level of trust in a relationship Sasha’d never known before, and if she thought about it for too long her stomach did weird, happy somersaults. It was nice. They were good.

She wished he’d hurry the hell up, though.

What felt like an age ago, Rhys had promised her a “surprise”, wagged his eyebrows lasciviously, and then disappeared to do God-knows-what in preparation. 

Sasha was intrigued, skeptical, and increasingly impatient. Perched on the edge of the bed, she tapped her fingers on her arm, knee bouncing up and down. Then, in the name of expediency, she pulled off her red hoodie and tossed it into the corner of the room. She knew Rhys would be annoyed at having missed the opportunity to do it himself, but that’s what he got for taking so long. 

As another minute crept by, she pulled off her black top, too.

What the hell _was_ he doing, anyway? Had he died? Had someone broken in and killed him while she sat here?

With an exasperated groan to the empty room, she bounced to her feet, reaching to unbutton her pants. She was just saving time, really. Cutting to the chase. It wasn’t her fault he was taking so long. Two could play the surprise game, anyway.

Her fingers had just reached for the zipper when something moved in the periphery of her vision. Something—someone—dressed head-to-toe in black loomed over her, their face completely covered. For a split second she stared, stunned and confused and barely dressed. 

Then the thing reached for her, and thought gave way to instinct; Sasha pulled back her hand and punched it square in the face.

It was a solid hit; she could tell from the sting of her knuckles, nevermind the yelp and the thud as the thing stumbled backwards into the wall. But she wasted no time inspecting her handiwork. She vaulted over the bed and crouched to the ground, grabbing the gun stowed under the mattress. Using the bed for cover, she peeked over the top and raised her gun, scope aimed dead centre at the intruder’s chest, her finger curled on the trigger.

“Oh my God!” cried the intruder, their voice muffled behind the mask, hands splayed out defensively as they cowered against the wall. “Oh, my God, Sasha, don’t shoot!” 

Sasha blinked, the crease of her brow deepening. 

“ _Rhys_?” She took her finger off the trigger, eyes widening. “What the hell?” 

“Obviously!” Rhys yelled back, and this time she could hear anger overtaking the fear. “Who did you think it was?!” His gloved hands scrambled ineffectually at the back of his head for a second before he finally managed to pull off the mask, revealing mussed up hair and a gushing bloody nose. “Why did you _punch me_?”

“Why do you _think_?” Sasha dropped the gun and stood to her full height, hands on her hips. “You scared me the shit out of me!”

“ _How?_ You knew I was coming back! All I did was—”

“I could’ve killed you! I thought it was a—a serial killer or—”

“A _serial killer_?” Rhys spluttered. “Why the hell would you think that?”

Sasha gawped. “Seriously? You’re wearing a murder suit!”

“A murder suit?!” Rhys’ outrage was rapidly approaching incoherency. “It’s not a—why would—serial killers don’t wear—”

“When you said ‘surprise’ I thought you meant something sexy, not—not—whatever the fuck this is! Hannibal Lecter’s Sunday best!” She waved both hands to encompass all of Rhys’ get-up. 

“You’re thinking of Buffalo Bill.” Rhys was remarkably haughty for someone covered in their own blood and shrinkwrapped in black leather. “Hannibal Lecter doesn’t wear people’s skin.” 

Sasha rolled her eyes.

Rhys sighed, pitiful once more as he gingerly wiped some blood from his lip. “I think you broke my nose.” 

—

Bent over the sink, pinching his nose as it dripped blood, Rhys looked the most ridiculous Sasha had ever seen him. Half his hair was flattened, and the other half stuck up at a strange angle, suspended by the remnants of hair gel. His hands and his face were the only exposed parts of his body, the rest still hidden underneath a smooth layer of black leather that clung to him like a second skin. 

“You could at least say sorry,” he muttered, the effect of his pout undercut by the nasal quality in his voice. 

“Nope.” With her arms folded across her chest, Sasha cocked her hip. “You learned a valuable lesson today: don’t sneak up on a girl while wearing a murder suit.”

“It’s _not_ a…” But he sighed before he finished, letting go of his nose and frowning as another drop of blood fell to the drain. “God. How can one nose have so much blood?”

Sasha lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve got a hell of a right hook.”

“You’re telling me,” Rhys snorted, then winced. “Ow.” 

Sasha moved closer, standing so she could see her reflection next to his in the bathroom mirror. Still wearing only a bra, her headband askew, she looked silly herself, but it was nothing next to Rhys. As he tore pieces of tissue to shove up his nostrils, his cybernetic arm moved stiffly. She half-expected it to burst through the leather at any second.

“Rhys,” she said slowly, “exactly what were you expecting to happen?”

“Oh, I wanted to see if I could trick my girlfriend into murdering me,” he said dryly. 

“I’m serious.”

“Me too. Thought it’d be a fun couples’ activity, you know—break my nose, get shot in my own bedroom…”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Rhys. I mean it. Is this...” She bit her lip, pausing as she contemplated how best to phrase it delicately. “Is this… like… something you’re into?” Her eyes widened in recognition. “Oh! Is it supposed to look like Zer0?” 

“No!” He screwed his eyes shut as he shook his head. “No,” he said, honest this time. “It… I saw it online and I... thought you might like it.”

Sasha raised her eyebrows. “Why would _I_ like it?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don’t understand half the weird things you like.” 

“Okay, _my_ weird stuff is fun, and you know it,” said Sasha, lifting her chin. “This is… I’m not even entirely sure what ‘this’ is. What are we supposed to… do? Like, what happens next?”

Rhys was quiet for a long moment. “I... don’t know,” he admitted. “I thought you’d know.” 

“Why would I know?”

Rhys threw his hands into the air, frustration bubbling back to the surface. “You know all sorts of things!” 

“Not about murder suits, I don’t.”

“It’s not a murder suit! It’s… it’s…” He groaned and hung his head. “It’s supposed to be sexy.”

“You should ask for a refund,” said Sasha. “I don’t think you’ve ever been _less_ sexy. And you used to tuck your tie into your pants.”

Rhys glowered at her, the effect of which was muted by the bloodied tissue hanging from his nose.

Sasha couldn’t help but grin. “I mean, you look like you’re wearing a sausage casing.”

Rhys glared for another moment, but even he couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah, well, it’s also, like, _super_ uncomfortable. And difficult to put on. And...” He gestured down at himself. “And I’m sweating _everywhere_.”

“Gross,” agreed Sasha, wrinkling her nose. 

Rhys folded his arms and stood straight, turning to face her. His expression was so petulant, his overall look so pathetic, she felt a pang of sympathy and reached for his shoulder. 

“Look, Rhys, I just… I don’t get... _why_ you...” She finished the question by waving her hand, as though that could encompass everything. 

Rhys didn’t answer right away. His cheeks turned pink, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding her eyes. 

“Rhys?” she prompted, gentler this time.

“You said I was _boring_ ,” he said finally, quietly, as though the admission had been wrenched from him.

“What?” Sasha blinked. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes you did!”

“I would never say that,” she carried on. “I mean, you’re a lot of things, but ‘boring’ isn’t—”

“You did!” Rhys insisted. “The other night, you were all, ‘how have you never done this before? You’re so—’”

“I said you were _vanilla_ ,” Sasha corrected. “Totally different.”

“Yeah, which is obviously a synonym for boring!” 

“No it’s not—”

"Of course it is!" Rhys rolled his eyes. “It’s the worst flavour of ice cream.”

“Everyone likes vanilla.”

“Everyone tolerates vanilla, nobody likes it. Nobody’s like, ‘oh good, they have my favourite flavour, vanilla’.”

“Sure they are! Vanilla’s good! It’s a staple! It’s—it’s, you know, dependable and—and safe—”

But Rhys shook his head. “Vanilla’s what you get when your class gets ice cream at the end of track and field but you were last in line because you twisted your ankle during the long jump and you didn’t want to admit it, ‘cause Susie Perkins already made fun of you for how short your jump was even though you’re so tall, and then by the time it’s your turn the only flavours left are vanilla and nonfat banana froyo.”

Rhys finished speaking in a rush, somehow even redder than he’d been to start. Sasha blinked.

“Hold on, sorry,” she said. “Are we still talking about sex? Or did we actually switch to ice cream?” 

Rhys sighed again and slumped back against the wall, rubbing his eyes. The leather of his suit squeaked as he did so, and it took all of Sasha’s considerable pokerface skill to keep from laughing.

“I just wanted to show you that I’m… you know… fun,” he finished pathetically.

“‘Fun’ like… sexy bad boy fun?” She laughed. “Hate to break it to you, Rhys, but if I wanted ‘sexy bad boy’, I wouldn’t be dating you.” That didn’t seem to hearten him any, so she stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. “I like you just fine the way you are, you dork.” She grinned. “And I know you’re fun. You’re up for anything.” She gestured meaningfully down at what he was wearing. “I mean, clearly.” 

Finally, Rhys returned the smile. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” She grabbed the ice pack melting on the edge of the sink and lifted it up to his face. “Maybe let’s just call a moratorium on surprises.”

Rhys’ hand closed over top of hers, holding the ice pack in place. “Works for me.” 

“Besides,” she continued, smirking now, “I’ve got plenty of ideas to keep us busy.”

Rhys smirked right back. “I’ve noticed.”

He moved their joined hands out of the way and leaned down to kiss her, and Sasha rolled to the tips of her toes to meet him halfway. 

Then his nose bumped against hers and he pulled back, hissing in pain. “I can’t believe you broke my nose.” 

“It might not be broken,” said Sasha, as optimistically as she could. “Maybe it’s just really, um, squashed.”

“My _face_ ,” Rhys whined. “My beautiful face!”

“A broken nose adds character,” Sasha reasoned diplomatically. 

“I like my face,” he said. “It’s a good face.”

“Eh… there’s room for improvement,” she shrugged, and then grinned when he glared. “I’m kidding! I like your face too.” But she reached up to run her free hand through his hair. “Look, if anyone asks, we’ll tell them we got jumped by bandits and you got socked in the face while bravely fighting them off to protect me.”

Rhys stared at her. “No one is going to believe that.” 

”...No, they probably won’t.” She shrugged. “We’ll get you a health kit, babe. It’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“Anyway, I promise to love you even if you have a crooked nose.”

Rhys scoffed. “You’d better, you’re the one who broke it.” 

“Okay, okay, yes, I’m very sorry I hit you,” Sasha conceded. “What can I say? The murder suit activates my fight-or-flight response.” 

“Then it wouldn’t be a very good murder suit. It should be—I don’t know—camouflaged or something.” 

Sasha laughed at that, and Rhys did too, cracking a smile beneath the ice pack. Even with him looking the way he did now—disheveled and bloodied and vacuum-packed—his smile triggered a swell of affection in her chest.

“Tell you what,” she said, one hand on his shoulder, the other tidying his hair. “Ditch the murder suit, shower off all this blood and sweat, and I’ll give you the best blowjob you’ve ever had.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know. As penance.” 

“Hmm.” Rhys pretended to consider it, his mouth a thin line of concentration as his free hand slid down her back to rest just beneath the waistband of her pants. “Not sure that’s what penance means, and also, kinda feel like it’s gonna be hard to top all the times my face wasn’t throbbing in pain.”

“Yeah, well…” Sasha pressed forward, bumping her hips up against his. “I like a challenge.” Then, with a last ruffle of his hair, she pulled back and headed for the door. “Clean yourself up, Vanilla Bean.”

“Yeah, uh, Sash?” he called, and she looked over her shoulder to see him rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m definitely gonna need your help taking this off.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr: [@oodlyenough](http://oodlyenough.tumblr.com/)


End file.
